- Why do you
still march, old man
- With medals on
your chest?
- Why do you
grieve, old man
- For those
friends you laid to rest?
- Why do your
eyes gleam, old man
- When you hear
those bugles blow?
- Tell me why
you cry, old man
- About those
days so long ago?
-
- I’ll tell
you why I march
- With medals on
my chest.
- I’ll tell
you why I grieve young man
- For those I
laid to rest
- Through misty
fields of gossamer silk
- Come visions
of distant times.
- When boys of
tender age
- Lost lives,
and mothers pined.
- We buried them
in blanket shroud
- Their young
flesh scorched and blackened.
- A communal
grave, newly gouged
- In blood
stained gorse and bracken.
- You ask me why
I march, young man
- I march to
remind you all.
- That but for those apple
blossom youths
- You
would never have known freedom at all.
